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The Rematch

The Rematch
by Mig Crowe


Rated: NC-17
Summary: An old enemy of the Team returns with a vengeance
Warnings: Graphic torture, rape, mental anguish, vomiting.

***Also see: A word of advice below.
Disclaimer: I do not own the A-Team, it is owned by Steven J. Cannell and Universal. I have received no monies for this, nor compensation of any kind.
This is done for my own personal enjoyment, and for my roomie Capt. Bubblejuice.
Copyright: (c) by Mig Crowe, 2000 - 2003

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***A word of advice: There are sections of this story that are both graphic and sadistic. I am not by nature a sadistic person and don't appreciate being called one, but I can write sadism quite well. Those sections are there to show the horror of what Murdock went through, and the agony of the team when they find him. I'm not really sure there was any other way to really get that across as effectively as those sections did. Do not read those sections, which will have ample warnings attached, if you have a problem with that type of thing. Further into the story we'll get Murdock's toned down account of what happened, and he will get a somewhat toned down account of what was done to him when he was unconscious. So you won't really miss anything by skipping those parts if you have trouble with graphic scenes of violence.
However, if you do read those sections and you are squeamish or do not like that type of writing, I really don't want to hear about it. You were warned and it's your own damn fault for reading them. I don't want to hear about it on this list or any other (and I'm on quite a few). I know that sounds harsh, but I had trouble with that before, and I'm not going through it again.

Mig
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Part 1


HM Murdock trudged up the steps to his apartment after a long day of mopping floors at a nearby supermarket. This was just one of many the mundane jobs he'd held and lost since coming to Virginia. Today had gone pretty much the same way as all the other jobs before it.

He'd come into work, taken the shit jobs no one else would touch, been as pleasant as possible to everyone, and at the end of his shift, when he'd gone to check the schedule for the next week, had found he wasn't on it. When he went to the manager he heard the same thing he always had, that they couldn't schedule him when he was out of town so much, that he was never around when needed. He was handed his final pay, patted on the back, and told it was a shame that such a good worker couldn't fill a regular spot on the schedule.

He let out a sigh as he unlocked his door. He didn't blame this manager any more than he could blame any of the others. The truth was that he was gone a lot, always off with the team, working towards their parole and freedom. He didn't begrudge them either. It was just the way it was.

As he laid his jacket over a chair and headed to his bedroom, he mused about the whole situation. Face kept telling him he didn't have to work. They had all earned enough over the years that they would be just fine if none of them ever worked again. And while Face had done a great job of investing for them, Murdock still felt he needed to work, to earn his way, to feel like he was making a contribution to society. It was something he didn't have to do, but needed to do.

Dr. Richter would probably say he was acting out, possibly channeling because he no longer had a pilot's license. But the good Doc wasn't here to talk to any more, and Murdock had no intention of breaking in another shrink. He missed Richter, not so much as a psychologist, but as a friend to talk to. Yeah, he could talk to Face, but Richter had known just how much Murdock had lost when his license had been pulled. Flying was his life, and he wanted desperately to be able to legally fly again.

He slipped out of his overalls, eyes closed, pretending he was once again at the VA. If he didn't, the aloneness he felt in this apartment would overcome him and sleep would probably evade him. And he needed to sleep, to escape the feelings of inadequacy he felt after losing yet another job. He missed the VA, he had never felt alone there, even locked in his room. He could always hear the nurses and orderlies out in the hallway, the other patients moaning or laughing or snoring. But here it was quiet, the kind of quiet that drives home the fact that you are truly alone.

Pulling off the rest of his clothes, he headed for his shower. He missed being around the team, too. True, he worked with them, spent time with them, but Stockwell managed to keep that time to a minimum. He couldn't spend the night with any of them when they were in "the Fortress", and he missed that, too. All their excursions were "chaperoned" so he spent a lot of time keeping up his act, not able to loosen up or let out the turmoil that constantly raged below the surface.

The hot water felt good against his face and chest, and he let out a deep sigh. He just stood there for a few minutes, eyes closed, mind blank, letting the water wash some of the tension away.

It took him a brief moment to snap back to reality when hands grabbed him. Arms went around his neck, his waist, his legs, and he was lifted, fighting, out of the shower. He struggled, trying to break free, to at least get a look at his attackers. He was wet, but hadn't gotten the soap out yet, so he wasn't able to slip free.

He was forced to the floor, face down, and held there with a knee pressed hard into his back. His hands were yanked behind him and bound tightly together. Fingers wrapped themselves in his hair, holding his face against the floor until a blindfold was tied over his eyes. A cloth was forced into his mouth, and then tied in place with a gag.

It was obvious he was at a severe disadvantage. He stopped struggling, aware that submission would probably mean less injury to his person. He needed to find out what these goons wanted, and with luck, plus the fact that most bad guys liked to brag, he might find out without receiving too much pounding.

Things got quiet. If the knee hadn't been digging into his back, he wouldn't have known anyone was still in there with him. He remained motionless, hanging on to the knowledge that if they had wanted to kill him, he'd be on the floor of the shower already dead.

Someone turned off the shower, making the silence seem ominous. The knee was removed from his back. Murdock tried desperately not to think of how vulnerable he was right now, bound, gagged, blindfolded and naked. He'd been through this before, more times than he liked to think about, but that didn't make it any easier to deal with.

Hands grabbed his arms and he was yanked to his feet and guided out of the bathroom into the living room. He was forced to sit in one of the metal kitchenette chairs while his ankles were duct-taped to the front legs of the chair. He was then forced forward and his arms were pulled painfully over the back of the chair. When the gag wasn't removed, he began to get a very bad feeling about what was about to happen.

 

 

Part 2

WARNINGS: ****THIS SECTION IS NOT FOR THE SQUEAMISH**** - Graphic torture, rape, mental anguish.

They weren't going to kill him, he was now even surer of that. But they apparently weren't planning on asking him anything either. That really didn't leave too much else except for things he really did not wish to think about.

So Murdock patiently waited. He sensed several people moving silently around him. It was, he realized, a kind of mind game they were playing. Sightless, unable to question or comment, he realized it was probably meant to be unnerving. Instead of allowing it to eat at him, he began to distance his mind from it.

Mentally he took himself to the sky. He didn't need a plane to fly; free of bindings, he could soar as high as he wished. Cool breezes, soft clouds, bright sunlight accompanied him as he glided - -

A sharp sting brought him quickly back to earth. They'd jabbed a needle into his arm, and he suspected there was a hypodermic attached to it. He didn't allow himself the luxury of wondering what was in it. There wasn't a damn thing he could do about it now any way.

Fingers wrapped themselves in his hair and his head was pulled roughly back, exposing his throat. He felt the edge of a knife blade press against the side of his throat, then slowly slide across the front of his neck, parting the flesh as it went. He held his breath, trying to remain as still as possible. The knife was lifted, then placed against his throat again, this time a bit lower. Once more he felt it slide across his throat, and again felt the warmth as blood began to slowly trickle down his chest.

Suddenly a fist connected with his side, catching him off guard and causing the gag to almost choke him. Another fist caught him on the opposite side, he heard a rib snap, felt the pain. Then again, on the first side, back and forth until he was certain every rib in his chest was at least fractured. And the pain was incredible, worse than anything he'd ever felt before when he'd fractured a rib.

He wanted desperately to separate his mind from what was taking place. The pain was too sharp though, and kept snapping him back to the reality of the situation.

His head was pulled back once again and two more cuts were made. God, he wanted to ask them what the hell they were doing, why were they doing this, what could he do so they would stop. But the blindfold and gag remained, and he assailants never broke their silence.

The pounding stopped to be replaced by a hand moving slowly, almost lovingly, across his chest, pausing at each nipple to lightly circle and then rub it. His breath caught in his throat. He had no idea what was coming, but a chill ran up his spine. He realized now that he was in the hands of several very sick sadists, and suspected he was about to become a living message to his teammates.

A piercingly sharp pain suddenly erupted from his left nipple causing him to stiffen. He felt a needle slowly being pushed through, the breath of his tormenter hot on his face, followed by a horrible tugging sensation. That stopped, but the needle was inserted again, followed once more by the tugging.

There were tears in his eyes as he fought the pain, trying not to outwardly show any more signs of discomfort than possible. It was getting harder and harder to breath, and much harder holding back the urge to scream in frustration and fear. The pain continued to sear deep into his soul, worse than anything the VC had managed.

He felt the hand fondle his right nipple before the needle pierced it. Again he stiffened, feeling the tugging as he was threaded, the needle brought back around and the nipple punctured once more. His mind raced with visions of what they could possibly be planning, and he trembled involuntarily.

There was a soft chuckle near his ear, hot breath on his cheek. He pulled away, only to have his head viscously pulled back, and two more cuts made to his throat. Fear gripped him knowing that they were enjoying themselves, and he had no way to stop them.

He tried again to distance himself from what was happening. He might yet survive this if he could just find some corner of his mind to hide in, or sink into the endless darkness of unconsciousness. But the pain continued to drag him back to the here and now, and the sweet darkness refused to descend.

Hands caught the inside of his thighs and his legs were pushed further apart. He struggled, suddenly remembering his nakedness, and how vulnerable he was. But strong hands held him, and he sensed one of them settle in between his legs. He threw his head back, sobbing around the cloth in his mouth, wishing he were anywhere but here.

A hand caught his balls, and began to slowly roll them. He found himself shaking his head, wanting to spit the gag out so that he could beg them to stop, to just kill him, to do anything but this. The hand continued to fondle him, stroking his penis, rolling his balls around. Other hands were slowly running up and down the insides of his thighs, almost soothing him, and he let his guard began to drop, hoping this would let unconsciousness finally take him.

He was jolted when a needle was jabbed into his groin, and a horrid burning sensation radiated out from the injection site. The pain spread quickly throughout his middle, and involuntarily he voided his bladder.

There was sudden cursing, and the hand roughly twisted his testicles, causing an explosion of color behind Murdock's eyelids and a sheet of agony that covered his very being. Yet he still could not find the darkness that would take him from this nightmare.

Hands ripped at the duct tape that bound his legs, pulling flesh off with the tape, and sending streaks of anguish up his legs. He was grabbed and yanked out of the chair, both shoulders dislocated in the process.

Someone grabbed the cord that had been strung across his chest, and he was yanked around and pulled forward until his hips hit the kitchen table. A firm hand between his shoulder blades forced him down over the table and held him.

He was only briefly aware that someone had come up behind him before hands caught his cheeks, roughly forcing them apart, and a hard object was thrust deeply into him. He let the sobs loose, more in agony because he could not escape this, could not find a way to release his mind from his tormented body, than from anything else.

He was pounded and pummeled for several minutes, the weight of the sadist pushing him back and forth across the table, dragging him against the cord that tore at his chest, putting pressure on fractured ribs that were ready to separate. And then, with one final thrust, the thug collapsed on top of Murdock. The weight was pulled off of him, but the reprieve was short as a second thug stepped into place and repeated the insult.

Twice more they violated him, each time the thug was bigger, more forceful. The many different pains finally blended together, dulled to the point where he really couldn't tell where he was being hurt any more. He let go, wanting the darkness, but unable to attain it.

After an eternity, they were done. He was pulled off the table and allowed to collapse to the floor. The surface of the rug was almost comforting against the side of his face as he lay still. He was dimly aware of voices, and struggled for a moment to hear what they were saying. But two sudden kicks to the small of his back caused an explosion of pain in his head, and the darkness finally descended.

 

 

Part 3

 

"Yeah," bellowed BA Baracus, jumping off the couch and dancing around as his team made another run, tying the score for the fifth time that night. The big man jangled with delight, snatched another piece of pizza and dropped back onto the sofa next to John "Hannibal" Smith. "15 innings, Hannibal! This could go all night!"

Smith just chuckled, lit another cigar, and settled back on the sofa. It was as much fun watching the big man's reactions as it was watching the game. All they needed now were a few pretty things to share the couch with, and it would be a perfect night.

"Uh, what's going on in here?" Templeton "Face" Peck asked from the doorway.

"Game's in extra innings and BA's in heaven" Hannibal laughed.

"But doesn't extra innings, um, mean the game is tied?" Face moved into the room but didn't sit down.

"Sure, but it also means a much longer game, Face, and BA can get a double dose tonight. You know how he likes these Monday night sport events." Hannibal chuckled again, then paused, taking a second look at his lieutenant's face.

"Something eating you, Face?"

"Yeah, well, I, uh, I'm not sure." Face finally sat down in the chair next to the sofa, letting out a long, deep sigh.

Hannibal raised an eyebrow, "Either it is or it isn't, Face. And right now, I'd say it is."

Another deep sigh escaped from Peck, "It's just, I dunno, I was thinking Murdock would call tonight."

"Man, I shoulda know'd it had sumtin ta do with that crazy foo'!" BA growled, his eyes never leaving the TV. "Can't go a day without you bringing him up."

"Easy, BA."
Hannibal murmured, leaning forward to study Face better. "Why were you thinking he would call tonight, Face? It wasn't a prearranged call that he's missed, was it?"

"Well, no, " Face looked around the room as if the answer he was seeking were somewhere on the walls. "It's just, um, he told me last night he was worried about his job. I mean, you know how he gets. But, uh, he seems to really be able to sense these things, and he sorta mentioned he thought tonight might be his last night there. And you know, since his is pretty good at seeing stuff like that, I figured, well, I uh mean, he probably got laid off, so I thought he'd call."

"Did you try to call him?" Hannibal leaned back again, his face thoughtful, but not yet concerned.

"Yeah, Face, give the foo' a call. Betcha wake him up, prob'ly went home and fell asleep watchin' tha game. Which is what I wanna do, sucka, without you interrupting me!" BA never took his eyes off the game.

"I tried to call, Hannibal. Phone just rang and rang. He doesn't go out after work, he always comes right home cuz it's late. Didn't even get the answering machine." Face mumbled.

"Whatcha mean, Face?" BA turned his attention suddenly on to Face. "I fixed that so it was crazy foo' proof. Only way it won't work is if he turns it off or unplugs the phone."

"Yeah, I know. That worries me."

"Guys, easy. He could have forgotten to turn it on. And maybe he got to keep his job and he went out with a couple of his coworkers to celebrate. Or he lost his job and he's out walking and thinking. You both know he does that a lot now that he doesn't have his sessions with Richter any more."

"No, " Face shook his head. "He doesn't know any one there well enough to go out with them, and he knows better than to go out walking this late at night by himself."

"Prob'ly took that damn invisible dog Billy for a walk. Wouldn't consider that bein' by hisself." BA grumbled. "Still shoulda got his answerin" machine, though."

"Would you feel better if we went over and checked on him, Face?" Hannibal was already getting to his feet.

"Call me an let me know what ya find," BA had gone back to his game.

"BA, if there IS trouble, I'd prefer to have you with us, OK?" It wasn't really a question.

The big man let out a growl. "So help me, if he's there sleepin' with the phone unplugged, I'm gonna make him pay for me missin' the end of this game."

"Now BA, it's gone on this long, it'll probably still be going on when we get there and you can watch the rest of it, ok?"

"It better be," BA muttered as he grabbed the last slice of pizza and followed Hannibal and Face out to the van.

The drive over was quick, this late at night there was little traffic in the area. From the street they could see that there were no lights on in Murdock's place. Hannibal suggested they each bring a flashlight, just as a precaution and they headed up the four flights to the pilot's apartment.

Knocking on the door brought no response, and Hannibal began to think that Murdock really wasn't there. Face took out his key and unlocked the door, opening it enough to slip his hand in and hit the light switch. Nothing happened.

"I don't like this" Hannibal whispered, pulling out his service revolver. Face and BA did the same and looked to their commander for orders. He signaled Face and BA to the other side of the door, then pushed it open with his gun.

The light from the hall was bright enough for them to see partway into the living room. They saw the chair in the middle of the room, duct tape still partly attached to its legs. Hannibal took a deep breath, seeing what could only be blood stains on the carpeting.

He signaled BA in first and the big man moved into the room keeping his back to the door. Face went next, going to the right and covering the rest of the room. Finally Hannibal slipped in, going to the left into the kitchenette area, and the three held their positions as they waited for their eyes to adjust.

He couldn't see anything in the living room, so Hannibal signaled Face and BA to check the bedroom. "Stay on your toes, guys," he murmured and moved out to check around the kitchenette and into the kitchen, while the other two moved quickly towards the bedroom.

Face suddenly froze, looking at the other side of the dinette table.

 

 

Part 4

WARNINGS: ****THIS SECTION IS NOT FOR THE SQUEAMISH**** - Descriptive narration
of severe injuries. Extreme angst, and severe vomiting.


Hannibal moved to Face's side, glancing where Face was looking, and felt his stomach roll. BA, suddenly aware that Face had stopped, turned to come back, but Hannibal signaled him to continue searching. The conman remained frozen for a moment more, then bent over, vomiting violently.

Hannibal hesitated between wanting to help Face, and wanting to move over to help the pilot. Murdock was on his knees, naked, gagged and blindfolded, his upper body draped across the kitchen chair, his hands bound behind him. Even in the dim light, it was impossible to miss the fact that he had been savagely brutalized. The Colonel took a deep breath, they had seen death and brutality before, but this was different, this was Murdock.

Absently, Hannibal reached out and rubbed Face's back as the younger man continued heaving most of what he'd eaten during the day. Until BA gave the all clear, he remained with Face, covering him, and hoping that whoever had done this was long gone. Besides, he could help the conman. He wasn't sure that there was a thing he could do to help Murdock.

BA called out an all clear, and Hannibal acknowledged it. Then he leaned forward towards Face, "Easy, kid. Try and get it under control. Murdock really needs us all to be clear headed. I'm gonna go over and check on him. OK?"

Face just nodded, trying to regain control.

As Hannibal knelt down next to Murdock, BA came out of the bedroom and handed a damp cloth and glass of water to Face. "Here, li'l bro. This'll help some." The big man kept his eyes on Face, afraid to look anywhere else.

"Guys, Murdock's still alive," Hannibal sounded amazed as he finished checking for a pulse. "Face, get the first aid kit he has in the bathroom. BA, get a blanket and the Coleman lantern from the bedroom closet. Now."

Both men scrambled to obey. BA returned first, the lantern lit and revealing a scene worse than anything the big man could imagine. He hesitated, then mindful of the fact that his friend was alive and needed help, he took a deep breath and moved forward.

With better light, Hannibal began looking the chair and its occupant over. He'd already decided that anyone sick enough to do this was capable of anything. Hannibal's major fear, and one that was realized quickly, was that there would be booby traps. He just wasn't prepared for the nature of them.

He signaled BA to move the light closer so he could check what appeared to be a trip wire. It was a length of fishing line that came out from under Murdock's chest, down over the edge of the chair and under it. Lying down, Hannibal carefully followed it back to where it was tied around the pin of a hand grenade. Had he lifted Murdock off the chair, as his first instinct had been, it would have probably killed both of them.

He had BA move the lantern down a bit, and choked when he saw the grenade had been attached to Murdock's lower abdomen, not taped but sewn, just above the pubic bone. He closed his eyes and lay back for a moment, having trouble comprehending this whole situation.

BA shifted, still having trouble actually looking at Murdock, and reached out to gently touch the pilot's hip. "I hope he wasn't conscious for most of this, Hannibal. If he was, I'm gonna kill those bastards as slowly and as painfully as I know how."

Hannibal sighed, and nodded in agreement. "Don't worry, BA. I'll do everything I can to help you do just that. Right now, though, we need to very carefully check over Murdock and this chair to make sure this is the only thing those slime balls have done. And where the hell is Face?"

"I - I'm out in the hall, Hannibal, " came the soft answer. "I'm not sure I can do this."

"Face, there's a rigged hand grenade sewn to Murdock's stomach. God knows how many other things are rigged. BA and I are going to have to very thoroughly check him over before we can even THINK of moving him. And he's in shock and still bleeding. He needs medical help immediately, and you've got the first aid kit. You've got to just do it, Lieutenant."

Face let out a long sigh, took a deep breath, and stepped into the light. "God, Colonel, where do I even start?" he asked as he took in the numerous bruises, the slashes on Murdock's neck, and more apparent punctures than he could count.

Hannibal sat up and took a deep breath. "BA and I will start at his head and work back. See if you can get the bleeding stopped at your end. Then see if you can find any trip wires or anything else around his legs, OK?"

Face nodded, opened up the first aid kit, and got started.

 

 

Part 5

WARNINGS: ****THIS SECTION IS NOT FOR THE SQUEAMISH**** - Descriptive narration
of severe injuries. Extreme angst, and severe vomiting.


They worked quickly and silently. Hannibal and BA removed the blindfold and the gags as they finished checking around Murdock's head. Hannibal was relieved that the Captain seemed to breathe easier once the cloth had been removed from his mouth. BA seemed to breathe a bit easier, too.

Face had taken a deep breath and then began gently and carefully to search inside the pilot for any hidden traps. Following what felt like another trip wire, he found another grenade pushed deep into Murdock's rectum. The conman found he was fighting nausea again. Mentally, he vowed that no one would ever hurt his friend like this again.

"Hannibal? I've found another grenade."

"Where, Face?" Hannibal asked without looking up from his search.

"In his rectal cavity. It's in there with the pin facing out. I'm not sure I can get a grip on the grenade without accidentally pulling the pin on it." Face had pulled his fingers back out and sat there staring at the mix of blood and semen that covered them.

Hannibal looked over at BA, "Keep checking for trip wires." BA just nodded.

He moved back to join Face. "We have to get that out of him. I don't want to move him with that still in him, too dangerous. Where's the trip wire lead?"

Face traced it for Hannibal, showing him where it came out, then down through both of Murdock's testicles, then where it was tied to the chair. Hannibal grit his teeth, took the first aid kit's scissors, and cut the line between the pilot and the chair. He then clipped it between Murdock's testicles and rectum.

"OK Face, here's what we're going to do. I want you to spread him as wide as you can," he held up his hand to quiet Face's protests. "Right now he's not going to feel it. He's too out of it. And the damage is already done. But if that thing stays in and goes off, he's dead." He let that sink in for a moment. "If you can't do this, switch places with BA, but it's got to be done."

Face saw BA glance at Hannibal, a look of terror crossing his eyes. Face realized that the big man probably wouldn't be able to handle this any easier than he could. Letting out a sigh of resignation, he reached with both hands and slowly did as Hannibal had instructed. He didn't miss the relieved look on BA's face.

Hannibal had wiped his hands dry on his pants, and now reached between Face's fingers, gripping the grenade behind the pin and tugging gently. The device moved slightly, but was budged in tighter than Hannibal expected. He pulled back a moment, thinking.

"Face, did you feel any other wires in there?" Hannibal asked thoughtfully.

"Uh, no. No I didn't. You aren't thinking they sewed that in too?" Face asked, incredulous. Hannibal shook his head, but there was just enough doubt in his mind to cause him to hesitate.

He took a deep breath, signaled Face to resume, and reached in again. This time he tugged a bit harder and was rewarded when the grenade slipped out. Face immediately released his grip, grabbed for a handful of gauze pads, and proceeded to pack the area. Hannibal set the grenade aside and went back to working opposite BA.

When the two had worked their way to Murdock's hips Hannibal let out a sigh. "OK, BA, you'll need to lift him just a bit so I can check underneath him. Be careful of his left shoulder, it's dislocated."

"So's the right one," BA said, sadly. Like Face, he was sick at what had happened to his friend. It would be a good while before any of them got over what had happened this night.

The big man gently slid his arm under Murdock's shoulders. Hannibal had already cut the one trip wire, so BA was able to safely lift the pilot several inches. Hannibal carefully reached between Murdock's chest and the chair, feeling for anything that might be another trap.

When he determined that it was safe, he looked over at Face. "Did you find anything else, Lieutenant? Have you checked to make sure he's not fastened to the chair any where else?"

Face shook his head. "Except for that one grenade, nothing."

Hannibal nodded. "OK. BA, you have his chest, get hold of his arm. Face, when I get situated and have his left arm supported, I want you to unfasten his arms. Then the three of us are going to gently move the Captain onto his back on that blanket. Got it?"

They managed to move Murdock to the blanket and laid him down. There didn't seem to be a spot between Murdock's shoulders and knees that wasn't bruised. And it was then that they saw the words carved into his abdomen. "Vengeance is mine." Face just stared, BA cursed. Setting himself, Hannibal began cutting the lines that held the first grenade to the pilot, ignoring the words for the moment. All he wanted to do was get Murdock free enough that they could get him to a hospital.

There was a sudden movement at the door, which was still partly open. Without looking up from what he was doing, Hannibal snapped " Which Abel are you, and where the hell have you been?"

"Abel 7, Colonel Smith, " the man in the suit came quietly into the room. "I was following you three."

"And which one of you was supposed to be watching Murdock? Who the hell let this happen? And don't tell me no one had this place under surveillance. We both know that's bullshit."

The man took a deep breath, "Abel 12 was the one across the street. I just came from there. He's dead. I had to get around several booby traps before I could even find that out."

Hannibal set the other grenade aside and turned to look at Abel 7. "I'd say I was sorry, but you can see we don't have time for that. We need to get him to a hospital. Ask your boss to smooth the way for us." He turned back to BA, "Can you carry him OK?"

"Yeah, Hannibal, I can carry him where ever we need to go."

"Just as far as the Van, BA. Then you'll need to drive like hell."

They wrapped their friend in the blanket, BA gently lifted him up, and they headed for the van. Hannibal heard Abel 7 contacting Stockwell on his radio, and hoped they would have some damn good doctors ready to meet the team at the hospital.

 

 

Part 6

 

BA was out of the van and swinging open the side door before the van had completely stopped moving. Hannibal glanced out and noted that there were several nurses, doctors and orderlies waiting around a gurney before he and Face moved the limp form to the side door. Baracus reached in and gently slipped one arm under Murdock's shoulders, the other under his knees, lifting him carefully from the van.

Hannibal and Face hopped out and helped the big man lay the blanketed form on the gurney. Then they stepped back; there was nothing more they could do to help their friend other than follow behind as the hospital staff quickly moved their charge to a trauma room. The men stopped at the doors, afraid to venture further, and settled down across the hall to guard the door, and wait.

Hannibal noted with concern that Face, sitting next to him on the floor, looked extremely pale and distant. He slipped an arm around the con man's shoulders, "Face, you want to see a doctor? They might be able to give you something to help you through this."

Peck just shook his head. He had no intention of moving from where he was. No one was going to get by him, no one was going to hurt Murdock again. He was focused on that, and only that.

From Face's other side, BA leaned forward to look at both Face and Hannibal. "He's gonna be ok. Foo's been through stuff just as bad as this and he still be OK. But you gotta take care yourself, to help him get better."

"BA's right, Face. We all need to be 100% to help Murdock through this. Let BA go get a doc to give you a quick once over, OK? You don't have to move; you and I can stay right here and keep an eye out. But you're in shock, Face. You need help, too."

"I? I need help? Me?" Face became animated. "I'm not the one who was beaten. I'm not the one that was raped. I'm not the one who had to endure being used as a needlepoint canvas while blind, and gagged, and totally helpless. I wasn't - wasn't the one who's body was booby-trapped for God's sake, Murdock was. I don't need help! I just need to go back in time and get worried a hell of a lot sooner than I did. My God, I could have stopped this if only I hadn't been so damn - so damn - SLOW!" With that, Peck drew his legs up to his chest and buried his head against his knees.

Hannibal and BA exchanged looks, neither one sure just exactly what to say. The Colonel was just getting ready to speak when a look in BA's eyes made him turn to look back down the hall. Stockwell, Carla, and several of the Abel team were approaching.

"Great," Hannibal muttered, "the vultures have arrived." BA grunted acknowledgement, and put his arm around Face as Hannibal rose to meet Stockwell.

"Don' worry, li'l bro, it wasn't your fault what happen to Murdock," BA murmured in Face's ear. "Wasn't your fault. Ya gotta believe that." But Face would not be consoled. BA sighed, and settled in to watch the confrontation between Hannibal and Stockwell.

"Didn't take you long to get here, Stockwell," Hannibal started out. Before Smith could get another word out, Stockwell held up a hand to hush him. The General turned to Carla, handing her a file. "Take this into the Doctor. He'll need these records to help Captain Murdock. Make sure he knows we would like to find out how the Captain is doing." Turning to the other men with him, he ordered them to bring some chairs into the hallway. Then he turned back to Smith.

"Abel 7 filled me in on what you found and what he found. He also found several hypodermics in Captain Murdock's apartment after you left. They're on the way to the lab for testing and we'll let the staff here know what we find as soon we get the results. The file I sent in with Carla is the Captain's medical records."

Stockwell looked down at Face and BA, then back to Hannibal. "Is there anything you three need right now?"

Face looked up, hatred in his eyes and anger in his voice, "We need for this to never have happened. Can you do that?" BA hugged the Lieutenant while glaring at Stockwell, but said nothing.

Stockwell let out a sigh, "Gentlemen, I'm sorry that I can't make this incident go away. I will, however, make sure that Captain Murdock receives the best medical help possible."

"This is your fault, sucka" BA spoke up. "If you'da let the crazy foo' stay with us like you done with Frankie, this wouldn' a'happen." It was obvious that the only reason BA didn't get up was because he didn't want to let go of Face.

"I suggest you not waste your energy right now on speculation. Save it to help your teammate recover from this ordeal."

"And just what would you know about his ordeal, Stockwell" Hannibal stepped between the General and his team. "I don't think even you know exactly what we found, do you?"

"You're right, Colonel, I don't know exactly what you found, but I do know what Abel 7 found. It was enough to give me some idea of what happened. And Sergeant Baracus may well be correct in placing part of the blame for this on me. So until we can evaluate this further, Captain Murdock will have to be quartered at the house with the rest of you when he's released from here."

"If he's released," Hannibal muttered.

"Colonel, one thing I've learned about Captain Murdock is that he's a survivor. He survived two POW camps, Viet Nam, a number of missions with the CIA, and the VA hospital. He'll survive this."

"Physically, but what about emotionally, huh?" Face rose, " Or mentally? And he'll have scars from this to remind him of it for the rest of his life."

"Captain Murdock, " Stockwell said, "will recover from this physically, mentally, and emotionally. He's really much stronger than any of you give him credit for. And much saner."

"
You don' know him like we do, " BA growled. "You got no respect for the man."

"On the contrary, Sergeant, I have more respect for the Captain than I do for the rest of you. You forget, I have access to records you couldn't begin to imagine. And I've seen what the man can do from a place none of you has ever been. So I will pool all my resources, and make sure that the Captain receives everything he needs to recover. And then I'll do what I can to make sure this doesn't happen again."

Hannibal, Face and BA just stared at Stockwell.

 

 

Part 7

 

"Let me get this straight, Stockwell." Hannibal had gathered his wits about him. "You wouldn't let Murdock come with us from LA. You wouldn't even tell him where we were being taken in Virginia despite what he went through to save us. You refused to let him stay with us at the house. And now we're to believe you plan on looking out for his best interests? Forgive me if we refuse to suspend reality for your little fantasy."

Before Stockwell could reply, the door to the trauma room opened and a blood splattered doctor stepped out.

"General Stockwell, I wanted to let you know how your man is doing," the dark haired attending stated.

Stockwell nodded towards Smith, "This is Colonel Smith. Captain Murdock is part of his unit." With that, the General stepped back, murmuring to Hannibal, "We'll continue our discussion later."

The doctor turned to Hannibal, reaching out a hand to shake as he introduced himself. "I'm Dr. Thomas. Right now we're preparing Captain Murdock for surgery."

"Surgery!" Face exclaimed, moving up next to Hannibal. BA was right behind him. "Whadaya mean, Sucka!" the big man growled.

"Easy guys, " Hannibal turned quickly towards the two of them, "calm down and let the Doc explain, ok?" He turned back to the doctor. "Sorry. They're concerned and upset."

"It's OK, Colonel. As I was saying, we're taking the captain up to surgery. We found blood in his urine, and an ultra sound showed the left kidney is damaged. I believe we can repair it, but if not, it will have to be removed. X-rays of his chest showed a number of bone fragments, and we'll be going in to remove those before they can do any damage to his heart and lungs. We'll also be exploring the abdomen to determine the source of internal bleeding, and taking care of that.

"While this all sounds very routine, we do have several concerns. One is the amount of internal bleeding and the shock that has been caused by blood loss. There are also several drugs we've found in his system. One is a strong sedative. Another appears to be a type of nerve stimulant. We have no idea what the other is at the moment. This will make it difficult for the anesthesiologist to control.

"Because we've found blood in the abdomen, along with the kidney damage, we've decided to go ahead and risk the surgery." The doctor looked over at Stockwell, "We can't wait on tests to determine the drugs used, we have to get in and stop the bleeding."

Hannibal let out a sigh, "Has he regained consciousness yet? Can we see him before he's taken up?"

"No, Colonel, he hasn't come around yet, and yes, if you'll follow me." The doctor held open the door and let the three men enter.

Nurses and residents continued to work, but shifted aside allowing the three to approach their comrade in arms. Other than the sound of the machines in the room, no one spoke for a minute.

Murdock lay on the gurney, an airway down his throat hooked to a respirator, EKG leads and wires attached seemingly everywhere, several bags of clear fluids and several of blood running through tubing into his arms. They had taken the wires and lines out that had been sown into the pilot's chest, removing some of the surreal look, but more tubing protruded from under the sheet they had covered him with, leading to other bags now filling with pink or red fluids.

Normally slender, the ordeal had left him pale and quite gaunt. The usually active man lay motionless on the gurney, looking small and lost amongst all the equipment and tubing. It was as if his life were slowly flowing out of his body, through the tubes and into the bags.

Hannibal reached out and rested his hand on Murdock's forehead for a moment. He couldn't remember ever seeing the pilot look so pale and so very still. "Hang in there, Murdock, " he whispered. "We'll be right outside the door. No one's going to hurt you any more. Just be strong." Be the survivor I know you are, Hannibal thought, just survive, we'll do the rest.

He stepped back and looked at Face. The con man just stood there shaking his head. "God, I am so sorry, so very sorry." He turned away, unable to look at Murdock through the haze of guilt he falsely carried. Hannibal put an arm around Face's shoulders and guided him out of BA's way.

The big man rested the back of his fingers on Murdock's cheek. "Ain't nobody deserve this, not even you, crazy man. Ya gonna get well. We gonna help ya get through this, an' then we're gonna kill the bastards that did this. An' don' be worryin' about Faceman, I'll take care o' him 'til you back on your feet. Take care o' both of you if I gotta, an' Hannibal, too."

The doctor stepped up and signaled his staff to move their patient. The team followed, not wanting to let Murdock out of their sight. On the elevator Hannibal asked the doctor how long he thought the surgery would take, but the man shook his head. There was no way to know.

A nurse let them to an area just outside the operating room. BA settled down on the floor just outside the door, while Hannibal and a very silent Face settled in to wait for however long it would take.


TBC

 


The Rematch 1-7 by Mig Crowe
The Rematch 8-12 by Mig Crowe
The Rematch 13-17 by Mig Crowe

 

 


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